Mabel's Sacrifice - Sort Of
by CescaLR
Summary: Request - from user Barbacar. What if, when Bill was deciding which of the twins to destroy, Mabel interrupted him?
1. Chapter 1

_"_ _Peek-a-boo."_

I'm like, the most optimistic-est person you will ever meet, like gosh I break the _scale._

But even this is a bit – much. Like, a little more than even the great _Mabel Pines_ , Glitter and Funtimes and Boys (kinda) Friends and Awesomeness Extraordinaire _herself_ can handle, and I am…

Not really able to find a good side to this –

Situation. Yeah. That's a serious and stuff word. It fits.

 _An utter catastrophe,_ my bro-bro'd prob'ly say. But then he says a lot of words he doesn't even know the meaning of, and that sounds more like a great opportunity for a cat pun than anything even remotely _nearing_ appropriateness levels required for the mess – Because I'm not _stupid,_ I'll admit that things aren't going great – that we are currently stuck in.

This – weird, flashy beam of light lifts us up and makes my hair float, and if this was any other time I'd ask why Dip-Dop's hat ain't floating like the rest of the unattached stuff is.

Oh well. Maybe it can defy physics… That would be _awesometasticsauceumness._

That's a word. It's in my very _definitive, totally legit_ dictionary of _Rad-Tastic Words for the Nineties Wannabe Kid,_ which is _supermegagosh_ awesome and totally not the thing I should be focusing on, because evil isosceles guy is floatin' us up into the air, and yeah I should listen to what he's saying because that's _very, very_ important.

He doesn't actually say anything, unfortunately.

What? Can't I wish for a generic b-movie villain monologue? Those are _the best,_ and the hero always defeats them that say it, so maybe it's kinda more for my optimism than anything else, but whatever it's not important now.

Because Billy-Silly-Evil-Dorito (because he's a triangle, see, and I need to not fear him) is carrying us back into the creepy live-statue-people-throne room, and as when we left a little time back, our grunkles are still stuck in that weird blue light cage of theirs; like we were except they're old men, not brother and sister, and don't have a can of spray paint and a magic flashlight to help them escape.

Bummer. That's a thing that happens surprisingly often. Y'know, for something that should probably not actually happen, like – At all.

It's cool. So not the point right now, though.

 _"_ _Alright Ford, time's up!"_

There it is! Villain-speak. Where you say stuff for dramatic effect and to scare people and things and animals and stuffed bears.

Yeah, my Bear-O is _the best,_ legitimately.

(I'm not sure what that means, exactly. Oops.)

So, we're – me and Dippin' Dots – are struggling, while Dorito Dude is sayin' stuff –

 _"_ _I've got the kids!"_ He sing-songs, and _gosh_ am I never gonna do _that_ again.

 _"_ _I think I'm gonna kill one of them now, just for the heck of it!"_

Wait what.

I stop struggling, and just kinda stare at the guy, because if my life were some kinda TV show I'm pretty sure it'd be a kids one, because of all the wholesome messages like punching Unicorns is great because nobody can tell you you aren't a good person, and how romance isn't everything except when it is, and also how jealously gets you nowhere except when it does – and also how the end of the world can happen when a little girl makes a _stupid,_ _ **stupid**_ mistake _no-one else_ would have _ever_ made.

Ah. Not that I'm saying anything by that; aside from the fact that I am and it's obviously about me and my general silliness.

( _If only I'd been_ _ **smarter,**_ _and less_ _ **trusting,**_ _we wouldn't be in this mess._

 _So basically; if only I were a more awesome (not that you ain't awesome, Dipping Sauce) and female version of my Bro._

 _Simples.)_

I can do that easy.

Kinda. It's not that hard to be foolhardishly brave, right?

(Not that Dip isn't intelligent – 'cause he is, and yes, also sometimes too smart for his own good – but when it comes to those he cares about my brother would sacrifice himself in a heartbeat.

Himself, and anything he's worked for.

 _Who would sacrifice everything they've worked for, just for their dumb sibling?_

 _Dipper would.)_

 _(So I guess I'll just have to be like Dipper.)_

 _"_ _Eenie, Meenie, Miney…"_

Bill snaps his fingers, his eye flashing with a red beam, from pine tree to shooting star-

From Dipper to me to Dipper to me to _Dipper –_

And I can't. Because if anyone's gonna be chosen, Dipper doesn't deserve to be.

He's not the one who let the guy here in the first place. Not the one who spent three, four days trapped inside a world of their own making where they _changed their gosh-darn family_ into 'more awesome versions' of themselves.

I figure sometimes those Unicorns were right, in a way.

"Wait!" I cry out, desperate – and they all know it. I don't look at Dipper, _Mason,_ because –

I don't think I could stand the look on his face.

He'd never want this, I know that – but I can't just let him _die._

That breaks the big sister code. No matter if it's only by a few minutes.

Bill stops from snapping his fingers at the last second, and turns his eye beam to me.

My grunkles are probably standing in shocked silence right about now, but I can't see them to tell either way.

We're lowered to the ground, and Dipper's put away in his own little cage, flashlight cast aside a bit back and not able to be used.

"Well well well, shooting star. If _this_ isn't a surprise."

I think I have every right to gulp in fear and nervousness and _guilt_ and _fear and nervousness and_ _ **guilt –**_

So I do. Figures if he looks at me, the others could do –

Something.

Bill pauses. His eye flashes – the forest, the weird globe thing, blendin, my bubble –

And I go cold. Because I know what they signify, and the others don't, and I was _kinda maybe possibly most definitely_ wishing I'd never ever ever ever have to tell them anything ever about _that_ terribleness.

It was a mistake. Even I can own up to that.

( _A stupid, gosh-darn awful terrible horrible_ _ **choice,**_ _that I_ _ **made,**_ _and should take_ _ **full**_ _responsibility for.)_

"And what should I 'wait' for, Shooting Star?" He changed to red, the more demonic voice ringing out and stinging my ears.

 _"_ _ **AnYthing TO SAY iN ParTICUlaR?"**_

I swallowed. Hard. There's no optimistic spin, no cheerful take, no nothing. It's a whole bunch of nothing, and I'm panicking.

Internally. Externally – I've always been able to fake things, in a way, so I just hope it only shows enough to keep the Demon's attention.

Hopefully.

"…" For once, I find myself out of words to say.

"Not – please." I start, stumbling. "I – not – not Dipper, _please –_ " I mumble, beg, incoherently because I'm _twelve, thirteen-ish-almost_ and I can't _handle_ this.

Bill chuckles. Cackles. I stop, of course –

Because it's terrifying.

Bill is yellow, and smaller, but he's already had his display of power. He thinks now nobody will cross him.

I know I wouldn't. Not without backup, weapons, one of Dipper's or Grunkle Ford's plans and a boatload of safety nets.

And apparently spray paint, a flashlight – magical, obviously – and my trusty grappling hook.

Because those are very necessary tools.

(They work against him. Nothing else we've tried seems to.)

Bill lowers himself, but he's still bigger than me, and despite his shape of choice he will always be intimidating. It's a kind of like, aura, he puts out – fear me, or suffer.

I do. But not enough.

I lift my head, defiant, but I'm shaking and it's obvious yet I won't let him hurt my family.

Not when there's a guilty party yet to be judged for… it.

 _It._

The thing. The end of the world.

That 'It'.

"Well then, Shooting Star. That's some guilt complex that you've got goin' there, ain't it Stanley?"

The triangle 'grins' with it's tone, I guess – because that's the only way to explain it. I suppose you just kinda had to be there, which is bad because no-one should be here.

Not now. Not ever.

He doesn't let Grunkle Stan reply, though – and continues.

"Did she get time to tell you all?" Bill asked the four of us, rhetorically of course.

"Tell us what?" Dipper yells out, bold – and _gosh_ I wish he hadn't.

Bill laughed, again. Dipper pursed his lips and narrowed his eyes, yet they didn't once stray from the Dream Demon.

"Oh, I don't tell this well enough." Bill said, lazily. "How about you, Shooting Star?" He demanded in a questioning tone. "What _did_ you never get 'round to telling that _family_ of yours?"

I didn't really _want_ to say anything, no siree, not in any way, shape or form.

Not one bit. I did anyway, though.

(That kinda thing likes to build up and pour out, bursting from the seams.)

I know I'm in tears – they're streaming down my face like little waterfalls – but that's not truly important right now.

Tearfully, I recount the stuff to Dipper, to our Grunkles, but I don't once look at any of them –

Mainly 'cause I'm terrified they'd hate me. But, again, that's not important.

"- and – and I didn't want things to – to change." I say, stuttering and fast and all at once, gestures wild and subdued, kept close to my person.

"So I said yes." I murmured. Cleared my throat, and repeated myself. "I said yes."

"And the town… disappeared. For me."

Because I was in that safety bubble he'd promised. A world where nothing changes without my permission, where it's endless summer and I was in charge.

I loved it. I can't, _won't_ say I didn't. But then, I figure most people would have.

My brother included. If the world were catered to him, more.

(He wouldn't change me, though. I think. I know. Not how I did to _him,_ anyway.)

(Not a complete 180 in personality and behaviour. Like Dippy was to Dipper.)

There is silence, I think. I'm not really paying attention.

It seems that when things get rough, emotionally, I run and hide. But that's the same for all _kids,_ right?

Because – me and Dippin' Dots – we're _kids._

Turns out neither of us are that well-adjusted.

Well. What did you expect, for a Pines?

(Certainly, surely not an utterly perfectly stable set of twins. That seems a bit too much to ask for.)

"So, what are you saying _exactly,_ Shooting Star?" Bill wheedles. "I'm not quite sure what you're getting at; how about you **extrapolate** for us who weren't there, Shooting Star?"

"The rift was broken. I made a deal with blendin; you in disguise, and the rift was broken."

I take a breath. Steady, shaky, say it now because never won't ever happen.

"I ended the world."

Bill snaps his fingers, a gleeful look in his eye.

I still, stuck in that weird gold light again, and there's that throne.

He floats me in front of it, and there are our friends. The townsfolk.

"How's about you say it **louder,** eh, Shooting Star?" Bill requests, ecstatic.

"I – " I start, but I stumble, the words stuck in my throat.

" _Shooting Star."_ Bill says, dangerously, and lifts his fingers as if to _snap,_ his eye turning to a pine tree, to that weird symbol thing, to a six-fingered hand.

I breathe. In, out.

Stuck, staring.

"I let Bill into the town." I say, because half of these people have no idea, and the rest only a vague one.

The 'idea' being all the stuff that's happened in the last sixty-or-so years to lead us here.

To this point. A twelve/thirteen-year-old, ending the world through poor life choices.

Bill drags me back to the room, and I'm glad because I don't have to see the town's folk, or Grenda's, Candy's faces.

I don't want to know what they look like.

What they think.

"Oh and Shooting Star?" Bill says, offhandedly. "I should thank you for all of this-" He comments, and I dearly wish that he wouldn't but he does continue –"And I'll be sure to let _everyone_ know how pivotal you were to helping me have total domination over your puny little 'Earth.'"

Bill said nothing after that, and honestly I'm glad he stayed silent. I've changed my mind about movie villains…

Their words and speeches aren't even slightly awesome.

They're horrifying.

I fall, and scream a little, but I land softly – and I hear calls of my name, of 'are you alrights', of ' _I'll fucking kill you for this'_ – and she isn't really sure which Pines that isn't herself said it but it was one of them, or maybe two or possibly all but someone did either way.

"How's about you say goodbye to your sister, eh, Pine Tree? It's not like you can stop me **now,** thanks to Shooting Star."

I see Dipper's cage break apart and Disappear. He runs up to me, and helps me stand.

Before he can say anything, before he can do anything, I near tackle him in a hug, trapping his arms at his sides and probably giving him a face-full of hair in the process, but never mind that right now.

I take a deep breath, and in a rush whispered words tumble out quick and without pause.

"Dipper – I, I want – if you live through this… _when_ this _is_ over, I – I want you to live a long and happy and awesome life, okay bro-bro?" My words are thick with tears, but I continue despite this. "- And – An' you can mourn me, alright Dip-Dop, but – but _please_ don't – don't be sad for all your – your everydays after all this stuff, _please._ Just – be a world-famous adventurer, or – or whatever it is you want to be after all of this – and, and find a girl, okay? And – and be _happy,_ because wherever I end up after this, I don't want you there 'till you're all wrinkled, way more so than our grunkles. Okay little brother? _Please, Mason – Live,_ for me, okay?"

I would say more, but Bill speaks up. I push Dipper away, and the cage comes back, trapping him in place once again.

"How heartwarming. But aside from all that, which I'm sure you were **dying** to tell **everyone-** "

Bill paused, and grew, and spoke.

"So – Shooting Star. I can't help but notice that you missed out on the party… such a shame. Hey! How about–" And here, he turned red, his voice once again demonic, just as his title in the blood-stained book Dipper has – or had – on the page all about him says.

" **So how about I do you a favor and let you experience three days of chaos… All. At. ONCE?"**

I fall over again, and lie on my back, propped up by my arms and for once I think, for the first time –

That something, this thing – It's a hopeless situation.

Bill's eye turns to that same red shooting star, and he lifts his hand as if to click but there's shuffling from a cage and I snap my head –

 _No._

Grunkle Ford steps forward.

 _No._

"Wait!" He calls out, growls out more like – angry, and, in his own way, resigned to a fate _she was gosh-darn protecting them all from,_ _ **no –**_

No. Ford _wouldn't…_

 **No.**

( _Yes. It's very much happening. And it's all_ _ **your fault.**_ _)_

 _"_ _I surrender."_ He says, and in the end the rest is a blur.

And it turns out Grunkle Stan is very good at the Twin Thing, despite years apart and differing hair styles and facial hair and voices that are pretty distinct from one-another, but it's still the most _awesometastic_ thing _ever, oh my gosh –_

Because Bill's…

Gone. And Grunkle Stan's getting his mind back, his memories – of us, at least – are returning, and surprising quickly too.

The date is the same as it was when this all started, and yet, in a way…

I feel older, somehow. Changed, by what happened.

Guilty for causing it. Horrible for the fact that no-one seems to blame me, aside from myself.

Dipper's tried to talk to me, of course – and I know _why._

But is it okay that I'm not ready for that, not quite _yet?_

(I think it is, in the end. And really, that's what matters.)


	2. Chapter 2

I'm fine. Mabel's all dandy, I swear. Really.

Okay maybe a little not. It's the day before our birthday, and I'm –

Thinking. I guess. Not brooding, I'm not some broody-pants downer, just –

Thinking.

About Weirdmageddon. I guess.

That whole thing was super mega badness. Truly it was…

Well. for people other than me, I suppose. For my bro-bro, the (at the time) perpetually-almost-thirteen-year-old boy who was wandering around town and managed to avoid being captured despite not having a home base. The boy who had no idea if any of his friends and family were alive or not, who had no food and no sleep and pretty much just utterly drastically nothing while I had a nice happy little bubble world of awesome radicalness and bright colours.

Not to mention plenty of food and sleep and the family I wanted around.  
I had a good time of it, for three whole days, and I didn't even think of the rest once.  
And then I tried to trap them there, convince them it was better. And I know that was partially Bill's influence, but in the end, it was also me.  
Me.

Happy, kind, lovely, bubbly, good Mabel. Being selfish.

I'm – like that more than I'd like to admit.

But that's not the point of all this thinking. Not really.

Grunkle Stan. Stanley. He… did that. He nearly died, figuratively, for us. Me and Dipper.

And he jokes about it. Because, I guess I never really thought about this, because he seems so –

Stan. He's so stan-ish. That's a verb now. But what I mean is I never thought him as – insecure, in that way, I guess. Feeling like our lives are worth more than his. And he did that. And at the time –

I thought he'd die. I also thought it was Ford, but then I wasn't thinking much at the time aside from No (Capitalisation necessary). Just two things.

Grunkle Ford, and -

 _ **NO.**_

In truth, I wasn't thinking straight. I don't really know if I am now, tbh. To Be Honest. Stand-ins are helpful.

They take less time. And – I guess I've come to value time as more than I ever really did before all this.

Dipper would use finite to describe time. Stan would say money – because Stan – and Ford would say…

I don't know what he'd tell us kids, but –

I think he'd think doomed. Y'know, 'cause of time baby. That guy.

Though, aside from all this… I mean, everything turned out great, in the end, didn't it? Our Grunkles are getting along way better, Pacifica's being… well, a stuck-up rich kid but a nicer stuck up rich kid.

Dippin' Dots and her get along better now, at least, and I'm glad 'cause he needs actual friends.

Not that he doesn't have any. Y'know, just ones our age that aren't his sister. I mean, I'm awesome, but I have other friends and so Dipper should too.

Also I guess they had that heart-to-heart thing a – I dunno how long ago – length of time that we've gone past, I guess. So that's good for them.

I'm still, uh, digressing, I should stop doing that.  
Not confronting my problems head-on is what got me into that whole mess in the first place, after all.

So…

Dip an' I are getting along fine, now. We haven't spoken one-on-one no matter how much he wishes to, because – despite all I've learned – I still can't handle that.

But I figure I owe him for everything that happened. An explanation, an apology, whatever he wants.

Tentatively, I knock on our bedroom door. There's some shuffling, and scrambling, and then the doors open.

Dipper's gone and gotten pen on the corner of his mouth again (are you supposed to say pen, or ink? Eh, who cares) and isn't wearing his vest, but I don't blame him.

(The aircon went out with the power and the total destruction of the shack. It's more a shack now than it's ever been – considering before it was more of a log cabin.)

(Also, since the door was broken down – By Dipper no less! – we put up a bedsheet and Wendy's been 'promoted' to guard.)

(Stan's just a big softie. That's what I've gained from that particular mess.)

(I should stop making asides. Dipper's staring at me, while I stare at nothing – just past his shoulder, into the middle distance.)  
(Darn. Y'know, like that thing you do to socks? I'm not cussing, oh my gosh, I'm only nearly-thirteen. I'll never swear – in that sense at least – ever. Promise.)

I smile, but it's too awkwardly big, and Dipper obviously knows all my tells, being my best bro-friend, and steps aside.  
"You could've just come in you know. Your room too." Dipper says, dry.

He started being a lot more dry in tone at the beginning of the year. I only just started noticing… after I made a caricature of him. What was nothing like him at all, personality or style or humour-wise.

There were a lot of little changes that I never noticed; the ones that happen over time.  
Heh. Time.

 _Time._

I flop gracefully onto my bed, before sitting up and bouncing in place for the fun of it. "Yeah." I draw out. "But where's the fun in that? Heard you scrambling." I sniggered, because I did and it was kinda funny. I should've found it funny, 'cause I would'a done that only a week or so ago.

Time was so hard to tell in the bubble. Even harder in Weirdmageddon Falls, so it feels more like months, or years, than hours, or days.  
In fact, it was literally no time at all, since Time itself was paused.

My sniggers die out, and I sigh dramatically.

"I'm sorry." I blurt out, but It's quieter than my usual… than I am usually. This sort of thing always is, I guess. Or, at least, that's what it should be.

Subdued.

Dipper frowns, but he knows what I'm getting at. He sits on his bed, and he's still, calmer than I am.  
Calmer than he's been in a while. He's not slouched, and those perpetual bags that practically owned a home under his eyes, pretty much lived there – they were less than they had been the past few weeks. His shoulders weren't slouching as much, and in general my brother looked less like he had the weight of everything on him.

He looked healthier than he had done for a while. I guess – despite the day or so I've had to notice. I still managed not to; 'cause I was avoiding him.

"There's nothing you need to be sorry for." And that response is pretty much automatic, for my brother.

It wasn't always. When we were younger, there was a time when he'd ask why I never really did anything in front of other people, why I waited 'till either of us were alone to console him. Why I never agreed to 'embargo' the bullies. Why I accepted valentines from them, only to re-use those valentines as a card for 'the best bro-bro in the world!' or whatever I put on it that year.

He shaved part of his hair for me, that year I had that incident. I watched as he was bullied and waited until after to give him his card… which wasn't even his card. It was a bunch of cards made for me that I re-used to give to him. And I even had some left over.

And he thinks of those as good memories. Ones when we're there for each other.

I'm not so sure I do, anymore.

I felt – I don't know what I felt, truly, but I explode anyway.

"Sure there is!" I exclaim, fall backwards so I don't have to look at him. "I started weirdmageddon, didn't I? Hid in a bubble and replaced you, I didn't worry about anything at all for the whole three days." I complain, explain, ask him rhetorically because truthfully –  
I don't know. I guess, in the end, I want to blame myself.

It's better than blaming other people. Good people don't do that sort of thing.

No." Dipper replied anyway. "Bill started it. Ford started it, way back when. Stan started it this summer, I started it when I didn't glue the rift together in favour of – other things, Blendin started it when he made a deal with Bill, Fiddleford started it when he forgot instead of trying to help his friend." Dipper pushed forward, ruthlessly. "If you blame yourself, blame everyone. Because, in the end… it's everything that led to those Weirdmageddon days, everything that happened in the last – however long Bill's been around, that's all led towards all of this. He's a master manipulator – and, in the end, we were all the puppets he wanted us to be."

Dipper finished what I'm calling his speech, and there's silence.

Truthfully, I don't know what to say to that. Or if I'm supposed to say anything at all, in fact.  
I mean, what can you say to that? Dipper's basically just a teenager, and – and that's his thought process?

It's way more mature than I'll ever get. At least, I think so.

"…pfft." I blow hair out of my eyes, hesitantly dismissive. "You didn't do anythin' Dipper." I say, because he didn't.

"That's the problem." Dipper responds. I sit up, because in the end lying down is just another form of avoidance.

I think I, Mabel 'The Good', 'The Love Guru', the 'every other title I've given myself' Pines, have grown enough to know that's the case.

(It feels like way, way more than just four days.)

I still don't know what to say. I'm good with words, like totally great with them, but right now everything just seems like it's a little too far out of reach. Like a tub of glitter on the top shelf of a store's… shelves, one that you desperately want because it'll make everything better, you know it will but you just can't reach it.

Then the kind lady at the register sees, and she gets it for you, and I guess that means what I'm trying to say is I need an adult's guidance right now.

Someone who's seen the world for what it is, and understands it.

I don't have that, I guess. Not yet; too young, I'd say. It's not the greatest, most awesome feeling. I don't like it at all. Not knowing what to say to help my bro. It's… hard.

"You tried to help." I said. "You came after me, right? Found the bubble, went inside and – got me out. You helped build the shacktron, and drive it, and a bunch of other really cool feats I'm sure… I didn't get to see them 'cause I was in a glorified Sweater Town. But they happened, I know it."

There I go. Nailed it.

Dipper's mouth made a small smile, but it wasn't more than half-hearted. "Then we agree that neither of us did anything wrong?" He pressed, and oh, I see what you did there mister.

I shrug, overexaggerated-like, and he sits back, looks at me curiously.

"What brought this on?" He asks, and I – I think I see hurt in that, because I've basically avoided him for days and he's done nothing wrong.

In fact, imo, In My Opinion, he's done everything right. That I know about, anyway.

"…" I don't know what to say. I close my mouth (which of course I opened in the first place so I could speak) and thought for a moment.

"… I guess I figured it was time to talk about it." Is what I say in reply – even though really, ngl, Not Gonna Lie – All I wanted to do was apologise.  
Even if it wasn't necessary – is it wrong that I feel it was? Is? Will always be?  
Probably. Oh well

Dipper nodded in – eh, acknowledgment, and inclined his head. Though that's the same thing, I guess, but you get my drift. Well, not really the same thing – the incline was like, my bro thinking or something on those lines. Along those lines.

I'm pretty sure, anyway.

Like, ninety-bajillion percent sure. That's a number, totally.

Dippin' Dots stops pondering, and speaks. "… you wanted to apologise, even though you were the one who was like – a freaking heroine, Mabel, really." Dipper states, enthuses, insists.  
"Not exactly in a great way and I'm sure mom and dad are gonna want us to have therapy or something, but – really, Mabel – you gave Grunkle Stan time, you saved our lives. I – hell, I'm – we're all proud of you."

Dipper's stare is insistent, a little wide-eyed and I don't get this, don't much like it, so I flop back down onto the mattress.

Because yeah, I did offer myself up – as, what, sacrifice or something? But that's not like, heroic or anything. It's definitely not something to be proud of. I – I dunno why I did it really, but I'm gonna go with the whole 'didn't want my bro-bro dead' angle right now, for my sanity.  
"… pssht." I deny, blowing my hair out of my face. "Nahhhh."

I pause, for a moment. Because, well, we all know this, yet I feel like I need to say it out loud, throw it out into the open air.

"I'd do it again you know. If needed." I say to the ceiling – because, in a way – I just can't face him when I say it.

The truth's a little difficult to say outright, I've found.

There's silence for a moment. When I look over, Dipper looks a little exasperated. "Please don't."

"… Alright, fine." I mutter, reluctantly, and he looks a bit happier so that's a win. Even if that was a little lie itself. See? Way easier.

One more thing tho. (Though.)

"One thing, Dipper?"

"Yeah?" He asks, encourages.

"I spent three days in a dream world. How about we do stuff you wanna do, considering – eh, Dippy Fresh…'s existence?" I offer, and he glowers at the reminder. "Sure." Dipper agrees, because my bro isn't exactly one to turn down something like that.

The almost-a-teen boy shrugs. I go back to staring at the posters on the ceiling, along with my friend the mould spot. (I forgot his name…)

Dipper smiles, and it's a soft one. "Come on." He gestures for me to follow, points at the clock Grunkle ford gave us a little bit ago since the previous one got destroyed in the chaos of the… Four? Four not-days.

"Grunkle Stan says the diner's full of townsfolk, all commiserating or something, and he wants to peddle what little bits we have left."

And so I follow.

We're not all better. Not everything from those days has been addressed, and we're like, a few days from going home.

But for now, for until we get back…

Things are good. And, eventually, things will be great again.  
With time.


End file.
